BY THE SAME: ON THE LIFE OF SAINT GREGORY THE THAUMATURGE
ON THE LIFE OF SAINT GREGORY THE THAUMATURGE
A Our speech has the same purpose as this present gathering of ours. For that great Gregory is the subject alike of your assembly and of my discourse. I believe that I require the same power to perform virtue in deeds as to recount those noble acts in words according to their merit. Therefore, one must invoke the same assistance by which he himself accomplished virtue throughout his life. This, in my opinion, is the grace of the Spirit, which, of itself, supplies strength both to life and to speech for those who are studious in either area. Since, therefore, that brilliant and illustrious life was made perfect through the power of the Spirit, it is a matter for prayer that such aid should come to this speech as he used throughout his life, so that the praise might not be found lagging behind the value of his achievements, but that the man might be shown to those present through this memory, as he was seen by his own contemporaries at the time of his deeds. For if the memory of those who excelled in virtue were without profit, and if it brought no assistance toward the good to those who hear it, it would perhaps be superfluous and useless to bring forward this speech for empty praise, both expending the discourse in vain and wearying the ears to no purpose. But since such a grace in speech, if rightly and properly applied, will be a common benefit to the listeners, like a beacon for those sailing upon the sea, guiding toward itself those wandering in the dark over the deep; I think that equal zeal is required for this matter from both sides: from you in listening, and from me in speaking. For it is clear that his life in virtue, shining like a beacon through this memory into our souls, becomes a path to the good for both the one who recounts it and those who hear it. For we humans are naturally inclined in some way to desire and to covet anything that is praiseworthy and honorable. The subject of these words is thus significant; as for me, it is safe from every side to approach the subject, whether to be carried along by the greatness of the deeds
or not. For the praise will be equal for the one being lauded in either case. For if the discourse reaches the level of the miracles, it will surely strike the hearing with its accomplishments; but if it should fall short of their greatness, the glory of the one being lauded is none the less made brilliant in this way too; for the most excellent praise of a man is to show that his virtue is greater than the ability of those who praise him to express it in words.
But let no one who has been instructed in divine wisdom seek, after the manner of outsiders and strangers to our faith, to praise him who is celebrated for spiritual goods with the artificial rhetorical devices of eulogies. For our judgment of what is good is not the same as that of others, nor would one find the same opinions held about the same things by those who live according to the world and those who have risen above the world. For to the former, wealth, lineage, glory, worldly powers, and the myths that establish their homelands, and—to those who even possess a modicum of reason—the things to be shunned, namely tales of trophies, battles, and the evils of wars, are seen as great and worthy of pursuit; but by our standard, one fatherland is held in honor, which is Paradise, the first seat of the human race; one city, which is the heavenly one, built and joined together through living stones, of which the artificer and creator is God; one nobility of lineage, which is the close relationship with God; this does not happen to anyone by chance or automatically, in the way of worldly nobility, which often flows down even to the wicked and the bad through this automatic succession, but which cannot be acquired otherwise than by the choice of the free will. For as many as received him, says the divine voice, to them he gave power to become children of God. What could be more noble or more splendid, more honorable or more august, than this? To all other men, their fatherlands are myths and fictions, and the deceits of demons mixed with mythical narratives; but our fatherland stands in no need of those who expound and narrate it. For if someone looks up at the heaven and the ornaments that are in it, and contemplates with the eye of the soul the entire creation, whatever miracles he manages to grasp in these things, these he will find to be the narratives of our fatherland; or rather, not of the fatherland itself, but of the colony which we, having been exiled and relegated from the higher life, have obtained as our present world. But if the colony is such, one must consider what the metropolis of this colony is, what beauty is in it, what the royal dwelling is there, what the blessedness of those who have obtained habitation there. For if those things that appear in the order of creation are of such a kind as to be beyond praise, what must one think of that which is beyond these, which it is impossible to grasp with the eye, or contain with the hearing, or conjecture with the mind? Through this spiritual eulogy, the divine praise of those being lauded distinguishes them from the trifles below, judging it shameful that those who are known by such qualities should be honored by the things that are held in esteem upon the earth.
A For if a man is of the world, looking toward material happiness, let him glean his praise for men from such things: if his fatherland has become fertile in cattle, if a neighboring sea supplies in abundance items for the gluttonous, or if tiers of stones layered upon one another adorn buildings. But he who looks toward the life above—for whom beauty is the purity of the soul; riches, lack of possessions; fatherland, virtue; and city, the very kingdom of God—shall consider the ambition for earthly things a disgrace. Therefore, we too, departing from such forms of praise, shall neither add the fatherland to the praises of the Great Gregory, nor shall we take his ancestors to our aid in these encomia, knowing that no praise is true which does not belong to those who are praised. And we say that anything is of one’s own that remains entirely and perpetually inseparable.
B Since, therefore, when everything is taken from us—wealth, fame, glory, honor, luxury, enjoyment, kinsmen, and friends—we remain inseparable from that single disposition within us, whether it be toward vice or virtue, we deem only the virtuous man to be blessed. And let no one think that, because I have nothing majestic to report regarding the fatherland or the ancestors of the man, I am, under the appearance of contempt for such things, merely trying to conceal and steal away their shame. For who does not know the surname of the Pontus, which has been assigned by all men as a peculiar exception to the nation, through which the virtue of those who originally obtained the region is witnessed? For this Pontus alone out of all the earth and sea is called "Euxine" [Hospitable], whether because the name testifies to the friendliness toward the strangers who reside there, or because the nature of the region is such that it provides an abundance of the necessities of life not only to the natives and local inhabitants, but also to those from everywhere who visit it. For such is the nature of the land, being fruitful in all things necessary for life, and lacking none of the goods found elsewhere, as the sea makes for them the goods from every place their own. D And since the whole nation is of such a character that whichever part of it one might consider by itself, one would think it excels the others, nevertheless, by the common judgment of the people, the city of the great Gregory is, as it were, a head for all the surrounding regions, which city a certain illustrious king of those holding authority over the Romans—Caesar by name—conquered by love and desire for the region, and deemed it worthy to be called Neocaesarea after his own name. But none of these things is relevant to our purpose, such that we should think to demonstrate the one great among the saints as more venerable through them—if the land abounds in fruits, if the city is adorned with structures, if by the neighboring sea it imports whatever it wishes from everywhere at will.
A Indeed, I will not even make mention of his ancestors, those who led the way for his birth according to the flesh, by recounting their wealth, their honors, and their worldly splendors. For what could these things contribute to his praise—tombs, and pillars, and inscriptions, and dead narratives—to one who had exalted and raised himself above the entire world? Moreover, it is not even possible to bring into the fellowship of his glorification those whose kinship according to the soul he rejected and spurned. For they were rendered vain in the error of idols; but he, having lifted his eyes to the truth, gave himself over through faith to the higher kinship and, as it were, gave himself into adoption.
B Accordingly, we shall pass over the manner in which, or from what parents he was born, or what city he inhabited from the beginning, as things that contribute nothing to our proposed narrative; but we shall take as the beginning of his praise that which he made the start of his life lived in virtue. For since, while still in a very youthful body, he was destitute of natural care, his parents having departed this life—at a time when, for most people, the mind in its incomplete age does not know how to judge what is good—he showed immediately from the start what he would be in the fullness of his age. And just as noble plants, when from their first growth they shoot up into straight branches, show to the husbandmen by their present beauty the beauty that is to be hereafter; in the same way he, too, when for others the soul, through ignorance, is subject to errors and slippery, easily sliding for the most part into the vain and useless things of youth, C at that time, through his initial choice of life, showed that the word of David was true in him, saying: *The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree* (Ps. xci, 13). For this, alone among trees, rises from the earth with the perfect thickness of its crown, and as it proceeds in its growth in length, it receives no addition to its breadth from time. Thus, too, he flourished from his first sprouting, being perfect from the very start through the choice of his life, rising up and growing with lofty boughs. For having left behind all the things by which the youthful age is captivated—horsemanship, hunting, cultivation of appearance, clothing, gambling, and pleasures—he was immediately and entirely intent upon the acquisition of virtues, subsequently choosing and pursuing whatever was always convenient and appropriate to his present age. D The beginning of his acquisition of virtues, however, was his study of wisdom. And following this, as a colt yoked alongside, was temperance; and as a helper to both was continence. But his humility and moderation of spirit were achieved together with his contempt for wealth. For there is no other source of pride and haughtiness that does not bring such passions along with itself through greed. And just as the father
A of our race, Abraham, is held by the record to have attained knowledge of the Chaldean philosophy, and to have observed the harmonious and orderly position and motion of the stars, and to have used this knowledge as a base for the contemplation of the Good that lies beyond, reasoning that if things perceivable by the senses were such as these, what then must those things be that are beyond sense? And thus he attained what he sought, as if mounting upon the wisdom of the outside world, and by it becoming higher, so as to approach in a way, through it, those things which are beyond apprehension: so too this Great man, by diligently conversing with outside philosophy—through which the Hellenic world is established for the many—was guided through these things toward the understanding of Christianity. And having abandoned the misguided religion of his fathers, he sought the truth of things as they are, having been taught by the very labors of those outside that the Hellenic dogmas are inconsistent. B For because he saw the Hellenic and barbarian philosophy alike split into different views in their doctrines concerning the Divine, and those who stood at the head of these dogmas neither agreeing with one another, and each one contending to strengthen his own position by the subtlety of his arguments: these he left behind, as if they were destroying one another in a civil war. He grasped instead the settled word of the faith, which is not strengthened by any logical curiosity or technical entanglements, but is proclaimed to all alike through the simplicity of its words; which, in the very fact that it is above faith, possesses the power to create faith. For if the thing spoken of were such as to be grasped by the power of human reasoning, it would differ in nothing from Hellenic wisdom (for they, too, believe that what they are able to grasp is what truly is). But since the apprehension of the nature that lies beyond is inaccessible to human reasoning, for this reason faith takes the place of reasoning, extending itself toward those things that are beyond word and apprehension. For these reasons, just as the Scripture says regarding Moses that he was instructed in all the wisdom of the Egyptians, so too this Great man, having passed through the whole of the Hellenic training, and having known by experience the weakness and inconsistency of the dogmas among them, becomes a disciple of the Gospel; and before being born through the mystical and immaterial birth, he so ordered his life as to bring no stain of sin to the laver. C And his conduct being in Egypt, in the great city of Alexandria, into which the youth from everywhere who had studied philosophy and medicine were streaming together, it was a harsh sight for those of his own age, a young man adorned with a self-control beyond his years. For the praise of one who is pure was the reproach of those who were defiled. So, as if to be an apology for the profligate, that they might not appear to be such alone, a certain scheme was prepared by them out of malice, in order to smear some stain upon the life of the Great man. And there is brought forward by them, for his defamation, a certain harlot woman, from an establishment D
B of those condemned to infamy. And, as was their custom with the men gathered in solemn appearance to examine and practice some point of philosophy, the woman approaches, mincing and posturing, and by all her speech and actions, she feigns that she is in a relationship with him. Then she would say that she was being cheated of her wages, adding in her impudence the reasons for which she complained that she was being cheated of her wages. But those who knew of his pure life were indignant and were moved with anger against the woman; yet he was neither disturbed by those who were angered on his behalf, nor, being slandered, did he say anything of the sort that it is natural for one who is taking the matter heavily to say. He did not summon witnesses to his life, he did not ward off the shame with an oath, he did not expose the malice of those who had plotted these things against him, but with a quiet and composed voice, turning to one of his acquaintances, he said, “Ho, you, pay her the money, so that she does not disturb the study of the question before us by troubling us any longer.” But when he who was charged with this asked the harlot how much money she demanded of him, and [the man] had counted it all out without delay: and when the snares of the wanton and forward against the sober and continent man had been completed and the infamous gain was now in her hands, then C indeed did divine intervention attest to the youth’s continence and expose the slanders of his peers. For as soon as she received the money in her hand, being seized by an unhappy and malignant spirit, and groaning with a bestial roaring unlike any human voice, she fell prone into the midst of those assembled—a sight horrific and terrifying to those present, as she suddenly became all disheveled, her hair being torn out by her own hands, her eyes rolled back, and her mouth sputtering foam. And the demon did not cease choking her until that Great man had called upon God for her and sought His favor.
Such are the stories of the youth of that great man, the beginnings, indeed, worthy of his subsequent life. And truly, the miracle is so great that, even if it were permitted to produce no other than this alone, he would have to hold the second place of praise from none of those who have excelled in virtue; being wealthy, young, living abroad beyond the borders of his fatherland in a populous city, in which, because the youth were indulging in pleasures at their own will and whim, the purity of a life of self-control D was considered a disgrace by the foolish—not because a mother…
A sought curiously into his life, nor because a father moderated his daily living, but because he strained toward such virtue by separating himself from vices and passions that he made the Overseer of all things, who through a grievous blow exposed and convicted the sycophancy of the woman, the witness of his own life. And what greater subject for praise could one devise? How could one admire him as he deserves, he who, having by reason conquered nature, and having brought his youth under the yoke of reason like some tame animal, and having become superior to all the natural passions that rise up, and having stirred up against himself the envy that is accustomed to invade all noble things, was superior even to this, inasmuch as he was neither moved to punish the plots of his companions, nor did he fail to confer a benefit upon her who had worked to bring reproach upon them, by delivering her through prayer from the passion of the demon? Such a one we have known through history to be Joseph, to whom it was possible to commit the crime with his master’s wife at his own will, since she herself was seized with an insane love for the beauty of the youth, and no man was there to witness what was daringly done; yet he, looking toward the divine eye, chose to seem a criminal rather than to become one, undergoing the sufferings of evildoers B rather than becoming an evildoer. But perhaps there is something in this case more than in that history about which to boast; for it is not an equal matter to turn aside from a defilement, whether it be the pollution of adultery or that which appears to have reproach in a lesser transgression. Therefore, since he judged that the pleasure of sin itself was far more to be feared than the punishment, in a case where there was no danger or fear from the laws, he either surpassed and exceeded Joseph in the greatness and magnificence of his wonder, or he will certainly not be considered among the second-best. And such, indeed, is the beginning of his life. But what of his life itself? After he had run through all the disciplines of secular wisdom, he encountered a certain Firmilian, a nobleman of Cappadocia, of a similar character and disposition, as he showed in his subsequent life, having become an ornament of the Church of the Caesareans. And when he had made clear to his friend the intent of his resolve and his purpose in life, namely, that it was directed toward God, and had understood that his [Firmilian's] zeal concurred with the same desire, he abandoned all study of secular philosophy and approached, together with him, the one who at that time was the leader of the philosophy of the Christians (this was Origen, whose fame is celebrated C on account of his writings), showing also by this not only his love of learning and his industry, but also the composed and moderate nature of his character. For since he was filled with such great wisdom, he did not disdain to use another as a teacher for divine studies, and having spent a time proportionate to the studies with the teacher, although there were many who were inviting him and keeping him there in a foreign land and wishing him to remain with them, he preferred his own motherland to all others and returned home, bringing with him the manifold wealth of wisdom and knowledge, which, like some D
A merchant who has conversed with all those illustrious and eminent in the studies of external learning, he acquired and imported.
And indeed, if one evaluates matters truly and justly, it will not appear to have little significance for the commendation of his name that he turned away from the petitions made by the common consent of so great a city, and that he did not highly value the zeal B of all the wise and chosen men in it, who were striving that he might remain, nor the noble desire of the leading men residing therein who longed for this very thing to come to pass. For these all had one purpose: that that great man should remain with them, to be as it were the founder of virtue and the lawgiver of life. But he, avoiding by all means the material for pride—since he was not unaware that the vice of pride is wont to provide the cause and occasion for a depraved and wicked life—entered upon a quiet life in his homeland as if into a harbor. C When, however, the whole nation looked to the man, and all expected that, by making his learning public in common assemblies, he would reap some fruit from his long labors—namely, the fame and renown of his name gained from them—that great one, not being ignorant of the things by which true philosophy is appropriately published and disseminated by those who truly and perfectly pursue it, lest his mind ever be wounded by some ambition (for the praise of auditors has great power to unbend the intensity of the soul through a certain pride and love of glory), for this reason D uses silence as a proof and demonstration of his learning, showing the treasure stored within by deed, not by word. Having completely separated himself from the noises of the forum and from life in the city, he lived by himself in a certain solitude, and through himself [he lived] with God, taking little thought for the entire world and the things of the world; not inquisitively inquiring about kings, not examining magistrates, not hearing from anyone recollecting how any public business was being administered, but concerned only that his soul might be perfected through virtue, he strove and labored with all zeal toward this throughout his whole life; and in bidding farewell to every worldly age and worldly affairs, he was truly a second Moses in our times, who contended with the miracles of that first one. Both went out from this turbulent age, which echoes with noise and clamor—Moses and Gregory—each living in his own time privately by himself, until the reward of a pure life was manifested to both by divine revelation and appearance. But indeed, with Moses, a wife accompanied him along with his philosophy; Gregory, however, took only virtue as a spouse to himself. Since, therefore, the goal was the same in both (for the end of the withdrawal of both from the multitude was this, to be able with the pure eye of the soul to contemplate the divine mysteries), it is permitted to him who knows how to look well upon virtue to judge which of these two led a life more through passionlessness—he who descended to the lawful and permitted participation in pleasures, or he who rose above them and gave the material passion no passage against himself. Now, at that time, the illustrious Church of the Amaseans
A had a prelate to whom there was, by divine grace from the Holy Spirit, a certain power of foresight; and he was applying all his zeal, that he might take the great Gregory into his hand and lead him to the primacy of the Church, so that such a great good might not run through his life idle and unprofitable. Realizing the intent of this priest, he [Gregory] contrived to escape notice, moving from one solitude to another. But when that great man Phædimus had exhausted every attempt, and using every device and ingenuity, was still unable to bring the man to the priesthood—as he was on his guard with myriad eyes against being caught by the hand of the priest—there was a rivalry of zeal in both of them: the one desiring to catch, the other to escape his pursuer (for the former knew that he was about to offer a holy offering to God, while the latter feared lest the care of the priesthood become an obstacle to his philosophy, as a kind of burden laid upon his life). Because of this, Phædimus, lifted up by a certain more divine impulse toward the task before him, took no account of the intervening distance which separated him from Gregory (for he was three days' journey away), but looking up to God, and saying that both he himself and the other were in that very hour beheld by God, he applied the word to Gregory instead of his hand, consecrating to God him who was not corporeally present, and assigning to him that city which had happened, until those times, to be so held captive by the error of idols that, while there were infinite numbers of those inhabiting the city itself and its surroundings, no more than seventeen were found who had received the word of the faith B.
So, therefore, compelled to take up the yoke C, and after all the legal rites had been performed upon him, and having requested a short time from him who had proclaimed him to the priesthood for the understanding of the accuracy concerning the mystery, he no longer thought it necessary, as the Apostle D says, to confer with flesh and blood, but requested that the manifestation of the hidden things be made to him from God; and he did not dare to begin the preaching of the Word before the truth was revealed to him through some apparition. For as he was once thinking through the night concerning the word of the faith, and stirring up all sorts of reasonings—for there were, indeed, even then some who were corrupting the pious doctrine by the persuasiveness of their arguments, often making the truth doubtful even to the prudent—as he was keeping watch and concerning himself for its sake, there appeared to him, as it were in a waking state, someone in human form, elderly in appearance, reverent in the composition of his garment, marking out great virtue by the [clothing] around…
A his face and the composure of his demeanor. He, being struck with awe at the sight, needed to rise from his bed and learn who he was and for what reason he had come. But when that one had calmed the disturbance of his mind with a quiet voice, and had said that he had appeared by divine command for his sake, so that the truth of the pious faith might be revealed—for the sake of the points of dispute—he was encouraged by what he heard, and with a kind of joy and consternation looked upon him. Then, when that [figure] stretched out his hand straight ahead, and as if showing him by the extension of his fingers what appeared from the side, he [Gregory] turned his gaze along the straight line of the hand and saw B another spectacle opposite the one who had appeared, in a female form, more excellent and august than is common to human nature. Again he was struck with awe, and bowed his head, being perplexed by the sight, not able to bear the radiance with his eyes (for the wonder of the vision consisted especially in this, that although it was the dead of night, a light shone out together with those who appeared to him, as if some bright torch had been kindled). Since, therefore, he could not bear that radiance with his eyes, he heard the discourse of those who appeared to him as they spoke to one another about the matter in question; through which he not only received the true knowledge of the faith, but also recognized those who had appeared, as each of them addressed the other by his own name. For it is said that he heard the one who appeared in the female form exhorting the evangelist John to reveal to the young man the mystery of true piety; and that he replied that he was ready to grant this favor to the Mother of the Lord, since this was dear to her. And having thus spoken the word, measured C and well-defined, he vanished from his sight. He immediately committed that divine instruction and discipline to writing, and according to it afterwards preached the word in the church, and left to posterity, as a kind of inheritance and legacy, that divinely given doctrine by which the people of that city are instructed to this day, having remained untouched by all heretical malice. Now, the words of that mystical discipline are these:
One God, Father of the living Word, of subsistent wisdom and power and eternal image, the perfect begetter of the perfect: Father of the only-begotten Son. One Lord, alone from alone, God from God, the image and likeness of the deity, the efficient Word, the wisdom comprehensive of the constitution of all things, and the power formative D of the whole creation, true Son of a true Father, invisible of the invisible, and incorruptible of the incorruptible, and immortal of the immortal, and eternal of the eternal. And one Holy Spirit, having his existence from God and appearing through the Son, namely to men, the perfect image of the perfect Son, life
cause, the holy fountain, the sanctity that supplies sanctification: through whom God the Father is manifested, who is over all and in all; and God the Son, who pervades through all: a perfect Trinity, not divided or alienated by glory, eternity, and kingdom.
Therefore, there is nothing created or servile in the Trinity, nor anything added, as if it did not exist before and were introduced later. Nor does the Son ever fail the Father, nor the Spirit the Son; but the same Trinity is always unchangeable and unalterable. And if anyone wishes to be convinced of this, let him listen to the Church, in which he preached the word, and among whom those very characters of that blessed hand are still preserved even now. Do not these compete with those divine tablets in the greatness of grace? I mean those tablets on which the legislation of the divine will was impressed and inscribed. For as the Scripture says of Moses, that having passed beyond that which is visible and having arrived in soul within the invisible sanctuaries (for the darkness signifies this), he both learned the divine mysteries and, through himself, became the guide to the knowledge of God for the whole people; one may discern the same dispensation in this great man, for whom the mountain was not any hill perceived by the senses, but the height of desire for true doctrines and opinions: and in place of the darkness, the vision of what had appeared to him, which had sufficiently strengthened his soul (for others are not capable of seeing it); and in place of the tablets, his soul; and in place of the letters inscribed on the tablets, the voice which appeared to him, through all of which there came to him, and to those who were being initiated in sacred things by him, the manifestation and declaration of the mysteries. Since, therefore, he had become full of a certain boldness and confidence through that vision, just as an athlete who has acquired sufficient experience and strength for the contests from a trainer, throws off his garments and prepares for the stadium with confidence, and struggles against his opponents, in the same way he also, having sufficiently anointed his soul with his own practice and the aid of the grace that had appeared to him, thus takes up the struggles. For one should call nothing else but struggles and contests his entire life in the priesthood, in which he overcame and defeated the entire power of the adversary through faith. For immediately upon rousing himself from the wilderness and directing his course to the city in which he had to establish the Church for God; when he learned that the whole region was held fast by the deception of demons, and that a temple to the true God was nowhere built, but that the entire city and the surrounding area were filled with sacred altars and shrines, and that the whole nation had this as its zeal, that the precincts of the idols and the holy places might be adorned, and that idol-mania might remain for the people, strengthened by processions and rites and pollutions at the altars—just as a brave soldier engages with the one who controls the battle line, and through him turns the forces subject to him—in this way also this great man begins his prowess from the demons themselves. And what is the manner of it? For as he was traveling the road from the wilderness to the city, evening having overtaken him, and a rather violent rainstorm holding him back,
A he entered a certain temple along with his companions. That temple was a famous one, in which the demons being worshiped were accustomed to appear clearly to the temple attendants, some divinatory oracular power being exercised by them. B Having entered the temple with those who were with him, he terrified the demons immediately by the invocation of the name of Christ; and having purified the air, which was polluted with sacrificial odors, by the sign of the cross and having cleansed it, as he was accustomed to do, he spent the whole night keeping watch in prayers and the singing of hymns, so that that place, which had been befouled by the filth of the altar and by the idols and was hateful and abominable, was transformed into a house of prayer. Having spent the night in this manner, around daybreak he was again preparing to continue his journey.
But when the priest in the morning was offering the customary service to the demons, the demons are said to have appeared to him and told him that the temple was no longer accessible to them because of him who had stayed there; and that he, using cleansings and expiatory sacrifices and offerings, was attempting through these to invite the demons to return to the temple. But as he made every attempt and his effort was vain and ineffectual, the demons in no way obeying his invocation as they had been accustomed to do, C then the temple attendant, having risen up in wrath and indignation, pursued that great man, threatening the most terrible things against him—that he would report him to the magistrates, and would use force against him, and would declare to the emperor his audacity, in that, being a Christian and an enemy to the gods, he had dared to enter the sanctum, the approach to which the power that worked in those sacred rites had turned away from, and the prophetic-like efficacy of the demons no longer dwelt in those places as it had been accustomed to do.
But when he, with a lofty spirit, had disregarded the unrestrained and ignorant fury of the temple attendant, and in opposition to all the threats had set before him the aid of the true God, and said that he had such great confidence in the virtue and power of his own protector that he could at will both drive them away from wherever he wished, and introduce them into whatever places he saw fit, and promised that he would provide demonstrations of the things he said immediately—the priest, astonished and marveling at the magnitude of his power, is said to have requested that he might make the beginning of this demonstration of power from these very things, and invite and introduce the demons into the temple again. Having heard this, the great man is said to have torn off a small scrap from his book, and having inscribed a certain authoritative voice against the demons upon it, to have given it to the priest; the words of the letter were these: GREGORY TO SATAN, ENTER. And the priest is said to have taken this note and laid it upon the altar, and then, having offered the customary odors to them
and the pollution, to have seen once again what he had been accustomed to see before the demons were cast out of the idol-temple. A When these things had taken place, he began to think that some divine power was with Gregory, by which he appeared stronger than the demons. And having hastened after him again, before he arrived in the city, he requested to learn from him the mystery, and who that God was who had the nature of the demons subject to Him. And when the great man had briefly explained the mystery of piety, it is said that something happened to the priest such as was natural to happen to one who had not been initiated into divine things: that he thought it beneath the dignity of what it is fitting to conceive of God to believe that the Divine had appeared to men through flesh. B And when the other replied that the faith of this matter is not confirmed by words and arguments, but possesses the power of producing faith through the wonders which take place, it is said that the priest asked of him that he might be permitted to see some miracle from him, so that by the very thing which took place he might be led to the assent and approval of the faith. There, indeed, it is said that the great man performed that great miracle which is of all things the most incredible to relate. For the priest having requested that one of the huge stones which were visible before his eyes should, without human hand, be moved by the power of faith alone and, at the command of Gregory, be transferred to another place, that great man, without any delay, immediately commanded the stone as if it were animate to move to that place which the priest had indicated. C And when this had come to pass, the man immediately believed the word, and having abandoned everything—kindred, home, wife, children, friends, priesthood, hearth, possessions—instead of all the things he possessed, he made it his aim to be with the great one, and to share in his labors and in that divine philosophy and instruction. Let all the artificial contrivance of writers fall silent regarding these things, which through some rhetoric elevates and exaggerates the greatness of wonders toward something larger. For in the things which have been related, the wonder is not such that it could, by the power of the speaker, become smaller or larger than itself. For what could anyone say in addition to what has been said, or what addition could he give to the wonder? Or how could anyone diminish the astonishment of the hearers regarding what was done? A stone draws those who were enslaved to stones away from stones; a stone becomes a herald of the divine faith and a guide to the unfaithful D unto salvation, not proclaiming and declaring the divine power by any voice or word, but by its own action showing forth the God who was heralded by Gregory: to whom all creation is equally subject and obedient, not only that which is endowed with sense and breathes and is animate, but even if there is anything outside of these, it receives the command of the servant as though it were not devoid of sense. For what hearing has a stone? What sense of the power of the one commanding?
A For if the power of the servant is so great that by a word it moves things immovable, and uses command against things devoid of sense, and gives orders to inanimate objects, how vast is the power one must conceive of as belonging to the Master of all—whose will, like some raw material, and fashioning, and power, became the very world itself, and all things in it, and the things above it! From this, that great man, having begun his victory against the demons, and leading about the shrine-keeper as a kind of trophy over the defeated, and having already struck the nation with astonishment by his reputation, thus entered the city with confidence and boldness, not boasting with chariots and horses and mules and a multitude of followers, but encircled on all sides by virtues. B For as all the inhabitants of the city poured out in a crowd as if for some novel spectacle, and all were eager to see who this Gregory was, who, although a man, held the beings they considered gods under his power like a king, ordering and leading the demons wherever he willed, and evicting and introducing them as he saw fit, just as if they were slaves, and having even brought that minister along, enslaved as it were by his authority while he himself scorned the honor formerly his and exchanged his accustomed life for everything he had possessed in terms of property and wealth.
With such a mindset and opinion, therefore, when the people were expecting him before the city and, when he arrived among them, all were watching him with intent eyes, he passed by the men like some inanimate wood, turning to none of those who met him, but walking straight toward the city, C which brought them to even greater astonishment and wonder, as he appeared to those watching to surpass his reputation. For that he, entering a great city for the first time, when nothing of the kind had been familiar to him before, should not be struck with awe at such a multitude of people gathered for his sake, but should walk as if through a desert, looking only to himself and the road, turning to none of those gathered around him—this seemed to the people to be even greater than the miracle wrought in the moving of the stone. D For this reason, although there were very few, as has been mentioned in what went before, who had received the faith before his administration, he entered the city thronged on all sides by those accompanying him, as if the whole city were honoring his priesthood. But since, immediately upon taking up philosophy, he had unburdened himself of all things as if of a weight, and nothing remained to him of the things necessary for this life, neither land, nor property, nor house—but he himself was everything to himself, or rather, virtue and faith were his fatherland, and hearth, and wealth—as he was already inside the city, and the house
for resting was nowhere to be found, neither a church nor his own, while those around him were troubled and perplexed as to how he might be lodged and at whose house he might find shelter. "What is this," A says the teacher to them, "that you are perplexed as if you were outside the protection of God, not knowing where one must rest the body? Does God seem to you a small house, if indeed in him we live and move and have our being? Or are you straitened by the heavenly shelter, and do you seek another lodging besides this? Let every man's own house be the one built through virtues and raised on high, which you should be concerned about. Let this alone trouble you, lest such a dwelling be unready for us; for terrestrial walls bring no profit to those living in virtue. Rather, one might reasonably say that the need for walls is sought after by those defiled by wickedness, because the house often becomes a cloak for hidden shames. But for those whose life is spent in virtue, there are no walls to cover them."
While he was saying these things to those who understood his words, a certain man of distinction, B illustrious in lineage, wealth, and other power—Musonius was the man's name—having seen that many were eager with the same diligence, wishing to receive the man into their own houses, outstripped the others and snatched away the favor, beseeching the great man to be his guest and to honor his house with his entry, so that it might become more venerable and famous in the life that followed, as time transmitted to posterity the memory of such an honor. And when many others also ran together and pleaded for the same thing, he judged it fair to grant the favor to him who had been the first to propose it, and having greeted the others kindly and honored them with courteous words, he departed to the one who had preceded them.
If this narrative of the things done by him is artless and contains nothing beyond a plain account of events—because our discourse has deliberately omitted those amplifications and exaggerations which are usually added to matters by clever contrivance—this too would be, to those who judge matters with correct judgment, C no slight testimony and argument that the miracles of the man whose memory we celebrate are in no way exaggerated by contrivance, but that the memory of his deeds is sufficient for the most perfect praise, like a natural beauty upon a face, which flourishes without any superfluous care from the art of cosmetics.
Now, though those who had heard the sermon before were few in number, before the day had passed and the sun had set, so many had come together at that meeting that the multitude of those who had believed was sufficient to constitute a people. At dawn, again the crowd was at the doors: men, women, and children, the elderly, and those who had, from demons or some other affliction, bodily suffering. And in the midst of them, he, according to the need D of each of those gathered, suitably…
A distributed himself through the power of the Spirit, preaching, examining, admonishing, teaching, and healing. For it was by this, indeed, that he drew most people to his preaching, because what they saw corresponded with what they heard, and through both, the signs and proofs of divine power shone forth in him. For his discourse held their ears in thrall, and the miracles performed upon the infirm held their eyes in wonder and astonishment. The mourner was comforted; the young man and adolescent were chastised and corrected, and learned modesty; the elderly were healed with discourses appropriate to their age. Servants were admonished to be faithful to their masters; those having authority over others, to show humanity toward their subjects. The poor man was taught that virtue is the sole wealth, the acquisition of which is open to all as a matter of right. He who abounded in wealth was admonished in a manner appropriate to him, being taught to be an administrator and steward of his possessions, not their lord. By distributing to women what was suitable, to children what was fit and useful, and to fathers what was becoming, and by becoming all things to all men, and taking the place of everyone, he immediately joined the people to himself by the cooperation of the Spirit, so that they set their minds to the construction of a temple, all supporting his zeal with their B money and their labors. This is the temple which is shown to this day, which that great man, having undertaken it immediately, established and fashioned at the beginning as a kind of foundation and base for his own priesthood, completing the work with a certain divine effort and heavenly aid, as has been proven by the testimony of subsequent time. For when a most violent earthquake occurred in the city in our own times, and almost everything had perished completely, and all buildings, both public and private, had collapsed, been scattered, and left desolate, that temple alone remained unharmed and unshaken; so that even by this it is made manifest with what force and power that great man took hold of and undertook his affairs.
But these things were manifested by divine power many years later as a testimony to the faith of that great man. At that time, however, when all, both the inhabitants of that city C and those in the vicinity, were astonished by the apostolic miracles, and had come to believe that whatever was said or done by him was being said and done by divine power, they did not think that any other judgment was more valid, firm, or of greater authority for them—not even in secular and temporal disputes—but every question and debate, and every intricate and difficult knot of business, was resolved and decided by his counsels and admonitions. Whence, by his grace, there was equity and the rightful constitution of law, as well as peace, both for the community in common and for individuals, and a great increase of goods both publicly and privately, with no malice or fraud diminishing their mutual concord. Perhaps, however, it would not be untimely to make mention of one of his judicial decisions, so that, according to the proverb, the whole fabric may be made manifest to us from D the mere fringe. For the divine Scripture, having judged many of Solomon’s decisions for his subjects
is satisfied to represent the whole wisdom of the man by a single instance, so that, according to the proverb, the whole cloth and weave may be known from the fringe. For although Solomon had settled many controversies of his subjects by his decrees and delivered sentences, Divine Scripture thought it sufficient to demonstrate all that man's prudence by only one of his decrees. B When he was acting as judge between two women, since the wrong could not be proven or convicted, as each of them equally rejected the dead infant but claimed the living one, he resolved to investigate the hidden truth by a certain clever and cunning device. Since the injustice and wickedness lacked witnesses, and there was an equal suspicion of both falsehood and truth on both sides, he summoned nature to himself as a witness of the truth, concealing his purpose and intention through simulated and feigned threats. For by having ordered, purportedly, that the body of both the living and the dead child should be cut in half by the sword and the halves of the children assigned equally to both, he delivered the judgment of the matter to the nature of the truth. For as the one readily accepted what was commanded and urged on the executioner, while the other, moved by maternal affections, confessed herself defeated, begging that the child be spared (for she said she would be grateful if the infant were saved in any way), the king, making this the criterion of truth, granted the victorious verdict to her who voluntarily yielded, considering that she who did not care about the slaughter of the child was accused by nature of not being the mother of him whose death she urged. C What judgment, therefore, shall we recount of the great Gregory? Two brothers, young in age, who had recently divided their paternal inheritance among themselves, laid claim to a single lake, each contending to have the whole, and neither would admit the other into partnership of the property. The master, therefore, is made the arbiter of the suit. Having arrived at the place, he employed his own laws for the arbitration, leading them to reconciliation and exhorting the youths to settle through friendship and to value the profit of peace more than what they might take from the yield. For peace remains forever for both the living and the dead, whereas the enjoyment of revenues is temporary, but there is an eternal condemnation for injustice; and whatever else it was appropriate for him to say while restraining and checking the insolence and immoderate greed of youth. D But after the exhortation was ineffective, and the youth was seething and inflamed and, swelling with the hope of profit, was burning with greater anger, and an army on each side was being prepared from their subordinates, and a hand eager for slaughter was being arrayed, using fury and youth as leaders, and the time for the conflict was set: on the day before that on which the battle was to be joined by both sides, the man of God, having remained at the banks of the lake and having kept vigil through the night, performed a certain Mosaic miracle upon the water; not by the striking of a rod did he divide the deep into two parts, but by prayer he [caused] all of it at once to
A restored the lake, at dawn, to the dry land—arid and devoid of moisture, so that in the hollows themselves it did not retain even a trace of the water which, before the prayer was offered, had surged like a sea. And he, having rendered this decision by divine power, went back to his own home; but for the young men, the decision achieved through his deeds dissolved their quarrel. For since there was no [cause] for which they were preparing war against one another, peace succeeded rage, and nature once again recognized itself in the brothers. And even now it is possible to see clear signs of that divine decision. For all around that place, which was once a lake, traces of the water's flooding and inundation still exist even today. But whatever was then submerged and at the bottom of the water has entirely been transformed into groves, dwellings, meadows, and arable land. I am of the opinion that not even that famous Solomon himself would dispute that this judgment holds the primacy. For what [act] has so much moment for virtue—to have saved one nursing infant at the breasts of two women, both of whom contended that they were its mother, and for whom it made absolutely no difference for its safety whether it obtained nourishment from its mother or from the other—as to have granted salvation to two young men who, having now advanced to the business of the world, in the vigor of youth and at the very flower of their age, were incited by anger to mutual slaughter? Having armed their hands for the destruction of one another, they were about B to present a bitter spectacle to the people of that time a moment later, in which there was danger that either both would be destroyed by mutual slaughter, or that one would completely pollute himself with the stain of fratricide. And this is to say nothing of those who, together with each of these two, stood in ranks with equal fury, whose endeavors against one another aimed at one thing alone: the death of their opponents. He, therefore, who by his prayer already annulled the death sentence passed against them by the counsel of that evil magistrate, and reconciled nature to itself, and converted the zeal for slaughter into peaceful joy—how much more deservedly should he be admired for the name of his judgment and decree than he who detected the fraud of the harlot? For as for the miracle performed upon the water—by what method that which was navigable was suddenly changed into uncultivated land, and the lake was reduced to a low-lying plain; likewise, in what manner that which was formerly a sea for that place has now been reduced to the point of producing fruit—I think it is wiser to remain silent about this and pass over it in silence than to pursue it with a discourse that cannot raise itself to the dignity and breadth of the matter being recounted. For what do we know of similar things in those miracles which have been committed to writing and recorded, which could become equal to this one by comparison? Joshua, the son of Nun, halted the course of the Jordan river; but it was only as long as the ark was in the water. Once the people had crossed and the ark had passed over, it restored the river to its accustomed course. In the Red Sea, the bottom [the area] lying deep beneath the water is laid bare, the sea having been thrust aside to both sides C by the spirit; but the miracle lasted only as long as the army, which was going through the deep on dry land,
A became a deep. After this, however, the surface of the water became one again; and that which had been divided for a little while was joined together. But in this case, what happened once remained as it had become, so that the miracle is not disbelieved due to the passage of time, being attested to forever by the things that are seen. The accounts and demonstrations regarding the lake are of this nature.
Another miracle later than this is shown by him and remembered. A certain river flows through their region, which by its very name signifies the roughness and wildness of its current: for it is called Lycus [Wolf] by those dwelling near it, because it is harmful. So great is it that it is brought down from the springs of Armenia, the land supplying it with a copious stream through the mountains hanging above it. Everywhere deep, and flowing beneath the roots of the cliffs and precipitous rocks with a sunken bed, it becomes much more rugged owing to the winter ravines, receiving into itself all the confluences from the mountains. But in the flat, open, and level part of the country through which it passes, being frequently confined by banks on either side, it would in a certain place overflow its shore, inundating everything on the side with its current; so that dangers were brought upon those living in the place [continually and unexpectedly], the river often invading the fields at dead of night or even by day. B Whence not only plants and seeds and cattle were destroyed by the force of the waters, but the danger even reached the inhabitants themselves, who were unexpectedly shipwrecked in their own houses by the flooding of the water.
When, therefore, the miracles previously performed by the great man had spread throughout the whole nation, those who dwelt by that part of the river rose up—men and women and children, the whole populace—and became suppliants to the great man, begging him to provide them some unexpected remedy for their evils. For they said that God could do everything in him, whatever was impossible to human devices and reasonings. For they claimed that nothing that came within the scope of human counsel and power had been left undone by them; they had built with stones and embankments, and whatever else is accustomed to be devised for such evils, they had done everything, and yet had been unable to withstand the rush of the evil. C And so that he might be moved to compassion by them, they begged him to be an eyewitness of the calamity, and to learn that they were unable to move their dwelling, and that death always lay in wait for them at the surge of the water.
When, therefore, he had come to the place (for no lethargy or idleness stood in the way of his zeal for the good)—and he had not used any vehicle, or horses, or anything else by which he might be conveyed, but leaning on a staff, he traversed the whole journey, at the same time philosophizing with those who shared his journey regarding the higher hope, always spending his time on what was of primary importance and making other things secondary to that more precious pursuit; so, when the deflection of the stream was pointed out by those who had led the way, and the sight itself revealed the calamity, the place having been carved into a deep gorge D by the inrush of the waters, he says these things to those
who had gathered: A "It is not for men, brothers, to mark out the movement of water with boundaries; such a work belongs only to divine power, to enclose the flow of waters within limits. For that is why the Prophet says to God: 'Thou hast set a boundary which they shall not pass.' To the Lord of creation alone, to Christ, is the nature of the elements subject, remaining forever in whatever places it is appointed. Since, therefore, it is God who sets the boundaries for the waters, He alone by His own power could curb the disorder of this river."
He spoke, and as if inspired by a more divine thought, and having prayed with a loud voice that Christ might come to his aid for the work at hand, he planted the staff which he held in his hand into the broken part of the bank. B And since the ground at that point was wet, soft, and loose, it easily sank to the bottom, yielding at once to the weight of the staff and the hand of him who planted it. Then, having prayed to God that this might become a sort of barrier and impediment to the unruly and disordered course of the waters, he turned back, demonstrating in deed that whatever was done by him was administered by divine power. For immediately, and not long after, the staff, having taken root in the banks, became a tree. To the river, this plant was fixed as a boundary, and up to this day the plant is a spectacle and a subject of storytelling for the locals. For when that river Lycus, from incessant rain and mountain torrents, comes flooding according to its custom, and is borne along, rough and fearful as it roars with its stream, C then, as the water washes against the bottom roots of the tree at the edge, it swells up and contracts the flow toward the middle of the channel, and, as if fearing to approach the tree, it passes by that place with a curved wave. Such was the power of the great Gregory, or rather of God who worked miracles through him. For the nature of the elements was shown to be like a slave, obeying the dictates of him who commanded, so that a lake was turned into a fruitful field, and the chasms of the river became habitable, the staff promising future security to the inhabitants. The name of the tree, even to this day, is "The Staff," a memorial of Gregory’s grace and power preserved for the locals for all time. What, by way of comparison, would you wish to set against these things from the prophetic miracles? Shall I mention the parting of the Jordan, which Elijah performed with a strike of his sheepskin mantle before his ascension, and after him Elisha, the heir of both the mantle and his spirit? But in those cases, the water was divided only for the prophets at the time of need, through the
use of the water being cleft, it came to pass that the prophets alone could pass through the river Jordan, while for so long a time that stream held itself apart, until the prophets had crossed on dry feet through the sun-dried bed. But in the time that followed, it was as it had been before they crossed. That Lycus, however, once turned back from its insolent and unruly course, continuously creates, even quite recently, the miracle of Gregory, remaining for all the A time thereafter as the faith of that great man rendered it at the time when the miracle was performed. For the purpose of the action was not that those who saw it might be struck with wonder, but that the inhabitants by the river might be saved. Therefore, since the miracle is equal (for the nature of the water yields equally to the prophets as it does to the imitator of the prophets), if one must speak frankly (which is the truth), the kindness in Gregory's act is greater than that of the others, by which the salvation of the inhabitants was secured in safety, since the water, having been curbed at that place of the stream once and repressed, remained immovable even thereafter.
Now, after the fame of such miracles, which were believed to occur by the power of faith in Christ, spread to all parts of the region, everyone began to desire to be participants in that faith which was confirmed by the testimony of such miracles, and the preaching went forth everywhere, the mystery was B zealously exercised, and the striving for the good was intensified; for in all places the priesthood was being established, so that through all things faith might increase and grow. There came, therefore, an embassy to him from a certain neighboring city, requesting that he come to them, and establish the Church among them by the appointment of a priest. Comana was the name of the city, and all the people, in a public assembly, begged and implored that this great man might be willing to be their guest and grant them this favor.
Having therefore come to them and spent some days, and having stirred up in them an even greater desire for the mystery by what he did and what he said; when the time had come to bring to its conclusion the business for which the legates had been sent to him, and to designate a primary priest for their Church: then the opinions of all the leaders and magistrates of the city were occupied with this, that they should anxiously and curiously inquire and investigate who, C by eloquence, by lineage, and by the rest of the splendor of life, seemed to surpass the others. For they supposed that, since the great Gregory was also endowed with these goods, it was necessary that the one chosen for this office not be lacking in these things. But when they were divided into many factions by their votes, and some preferred and advocated one person, others another, that great man awaited some counsel from God to be supplied to him regarding the matter at hand. And just as Samuel is recorded not to have been moved by the beauty or the size of bodies when choosing a king, but to have sought out a royal soul, even if it were found in a body that might be held in contempt: in the same way also he, disregarding the ambitions regarding each of those who were being voted upon, looked to this one thing alone: whether any man, even before the declaration, carried the priesthood in his manner of life through the diligence of his virtue and conduct. And while they brought forward those who had been voted for with praises, each one D advocating his own candidate, he was bidden to look even toward those who were humbler according to the appearance of their life (for it is possible that even among such—
A a person might be found who surpassed in the wealth of his soul those who were more renowned in their life). Someone among those presiding over the vote thought this judgment of the great man was an insult and a mockery, since, when none of those who were preferred to the rest by their eloquence, their dignity, and the manifest splendor of their life were being admitted to the priesthood, some from among the base handicraftsmen were being thought more worthy of such a grace. And at the same time, mocking him, he came forward and said to him, "If you bid this, that such men as these, who have been chosen from the whole number of the citizens, should be passed over, and that we should take instead from the dregs of society someone for the administration of the priesthood, to preside over such a city, it will be time for you next to call Alexander the charcoal-burner to the priesthood." And turning to him, he added, "If it pleases you, let the whole city agree to this vote." He was saying these things, speaking against his counsel, and through this ironical vote was criticizing the exactness shown in the B previous selections.
But to the great man, through these words, the thought occurred that it was not without divine providence that Alexander had been brought into the memory of those who were deliberating among the rest. "And who," he asked, "is this Alexander of whom you have made mention?" Then, when one of those present had, with laughter, brought forth into the midst the man who had been mentioned, clad in vile and filthy rags—indeed, not even covering his whole body—and at the same time showing by his appearance his trade—his hands, his face, and the rest of his body being smeared and soiled with the work of charcoal—to the others such an Alexander, standing in their midst, was a subject for laughter. But to that perceptive eye of his, the thing that was happening and being seen caused great astonishment: a man in extreme poverty, with a neglected body, looking only to himself, and as it were rejoicing in that habit—a habit which was ridiculous to uninstructed eyes. For so it was. C He had not come to such a kind of life driven by poverty, but the man was a philosopher, as his subsequent life showed, to such a degree that he even attained to martyrdom, having finished his course through fire. He sought, however, to remain hidden, or rather he made it his aim, being gifted with a higher spirit than to care for the happiness that is sought by the masses; he held the world as nothing, being possessed by the desire for the higher and true life. And in order that he might best attain the virtue to which he aspired, he took pains that he might remain unknown as such, hiding himself as if behind an ugly mask by means of a more despised way of life. Furthermore, since he was also endowed with the exceptional flower of youth, he deemed it dangerous for one who had proposed to himself the pursuit of continence to make public the beauty of his body, as if parading the felicity of his nature; for he knew that such a thing is wont to D provide for most people an occasion for grave falls and sins.
And so, that he might neither suffer anything involuntary, nor provide to the eyes of others a cause for falling and stumbling, he deliberately donned, like some hideous mask, the work of a charcoal burner, by which his body was exercised toward virtue through these labors, its beauty was covered by the filth of the charcoal, and at the same time the money he sought from his labors was provided for the fulfillment of the commandments. Having therefore moved him away from the council, and having questioned him with all precision concerning his state and condition, he surrendered him to those around him, giving them orders to do what the matter required. He himself returned to the council, and, taking his cue from the current deliberation, he instructed those gathered there, proposing to them discourses on the office of the priesthood, and through these outlining a life joined with virtue. He persisted in such discourses, keeping the assembly delayed, until those who performed their service to him had fulfilled what was commanded, and arrived, bringing with them Alexander, who had both washed away the unpleasantness of the soot with a bath, and was adorned and dressed in the great man’s garments. For the others had been ordered to see to these things.
When everyone had turned toward Alexander and was set in admiration at the appearance, "Nothing new has happened to you," the master said to them, "if you have been deceived by your eyes and have entrusted the judgment of beauty to the senses alone. For the sense is a fallacious and uncertain judge of the truth of things, precluding of itself [the opportunity for] access to the depth of the mind and intelligence. C At the same time, it was also entirely the goal of the demon who is an enemy of piety that the vessel of election should be kept covered by ignorance, so as to be idle and useless, and that a man who was to be the destroyer of his dominion should not come into the midst." Having said this, he offered the man to God through the priesthood, making him perfect in grace according to the customary manner.
When everyone was looking toward the new priest, and he was requested to deliver some discourse to the church, Alexander immediately, at the very beginning of his administration, showed that the judgment of the great Gregory concerning him had not been false. For his discourse was full of intelligence and depth of thought, less adorned with the flowers of rhetoric. Hence, a certain insolent youth from Attica, who happened to be among them, mocked his unrefined diction, because it was not adorned with that exact and superfluous care which the Attics were accustomed to employ in speaking. They say that he was corrected by a certain divine vision, when he had caught sight of a flock of pigeons shining with an incredible beauty, and had heard someone saying that these were the pigeons of Alexander, whom he had mocked. D Which of these things should one admire more? That the man was not moved by the vote of those who were preeminent in dignity, nor was he carried away, at the same time, by the testimonies of the leading and prominent men? Or is it more fitting to admire the riches hidden in the charcoal, which, by a testimony of right judgment directly produced by God, followed through the vision of the orator? For to me, each of these things seems to be of such a nature that they compete with one another, while all of them are, for the most part, among the first of those things mentioned for which one should marvel. For the fact that he resisted the impulse of the powerful, the...
clearest sign of a firm and lofty mind, is what made him regard as equal all things that appear in the world, whether they tended toward magnificence and splendor or toward lowliness and obscurity; and by assigning pride of place only to virtue, and judging only a life lived in wickedness to be worthy of rejection, he looked upon as nothing all things whatsoever that are judged in this life to be worthy of any pursuit or of contempt. And this, indeed, is what is demonstrated to have been done even on that occasion. For since he was making every effort to find a person acceptable and worthy in the sight of God, he did not consider wealth, or dignity, or the splendors of this world—none of which are enumerated in holy Scripture in the list of goods—to be suitable things to admit as testimony. It is not, therefore, only this which is worthy of praise and admiration, that he rejected the promptings of those in power; but rather that, through what followed, he surpassed even himself. For he who merely rejects an inept and less suitable opinion, without adding what the situation demands, surely prevents the evil, yet does not accomplish the good. But he who, beyond not consenting to the worse, also discovers the good, achieves the good through both, while neither giving the evil an opportunity nor failing to bring the good to effect. Thus, the benefit of great Gregory accrued to the city in both respects, as he both averted what was being done amiss by them through ignorance and, through himself, manifested the good that had been hidden among them. A This was the clearest mark of [his] unmovable and lofty intellect, whereby all things appearing in the world were viewed by him in the same light, whether they had to do with what is greater and more illustrious, or whether they had to do with what is humble and obscure; he held it as belonging to the same, granting preference only to virtue and judging only the life of vice as worthy of rejection, seeing all things which in this life are judged either worthy of some zeal or of dishonor as nothing. B And this he also demonstrates having done at that time. For seeking to find one who was favored by God and worthy, he did not think wealth and rank, and the splendors of this world, to be reliable indicators for testimony—things which the divine Word has not numbered among the list of goods. This, then, is not the only thing worthy of praise and wonder, that he did not yield to the pursuits of the powerful; but he even surpassed himself through the things that followed. For the one who merely declined an unworthy opinion, but did not contribute what was lacking for the necessity, prevented the evil but did not perform the good. But he, in addition to not agreeing with the worse, also discovered the good, completing the good through both; not allowing the evil access, and bringing the good into activity, so that the benefit of the great Gregory to the city became twofold: he both turned them away from that which was being done wrong by them through ignorance, and made known the good that had been hidden among them by his own action.
C Since all things had, in the opinion of this great man, proceeded with the assistance of the Holy Spirit, it would not be out of place to recount also the incidental event of his journey, in order that the grace which was present with the man might be shown through all things. For since it was known to all that this was what he sought after before all others—to look to all things for the consolation of those in need—two men of the Hebrew faith, whether looking for gain or contriving some insult against the man, as one easily disposed to being deceived, lay in wait for his return. And one of these, appearing to be dead, was stretched out on his back, thrown across the public highway; the other, as if lamenting the one lying there, imitated the voices of those who mourn, and cried out to the passing great man, saying that this wretch had suddenly been seized by death, lay naked, and was unprepared for burial. D He therefore begged the great man not to overlook the funeral rites for him, but, taking some pity on his poverty, to provide from what he had at hand that with which the final adornment might be cast upon his body. He indeed was supplicating, saying these and such-like things; but the other, without any hesitation, cast the cloak with which he was wrapped upon the one lying there and continued on his way. But when he had passed by and those who had played this trick upon him were alone, that deceiver changed his pretended lamentation into laughter, and exhorted the one lying there to get up, wishing for himself the gain that had come to them by his deceit.
But the other remained in the same state, hearing nothing of what was being said. And when he used a louder voice, and at the same time tried to rouse him by kicking him with his foot, the one lying still neither listened to the voice nor felt the blow, but remained stretched out in the same posture. A For he was dead, having passed away in true death at the very moment the cloak was cast upon him—the death he had feigned for the sake of deceiving B the great man; so that the man of God was not proved false, but the cloak, for the sake of which it had been given by him, became useful for the purpose of those who had received it. If such an act of the great man’s faith and power seems bitter and atrocious, let no one be surprised, looking toward the great Peter. For he, too, did not merely demonstrate the power with which he was endowed by doing good—showing to the people the man lame from birth running and leaping, or healing the infirmities of the sick by the shadow of his own body as the sun, in the movement of the apostle, C fell transversely across his body—but he also condemns Ananias to death when he viewed the power dwelling in the apostle with contempt, so that, I believe, by fear of that event, everyone among the people who might be suffering the same disease of contempt might be recalled to a sounder opinion, being restrained by the dreadful example, lest he himself should be led to commit the same act and be subjected to the same penalties. Rightly, then, the imitator of Peter, having shown the greatness of his power through many benevolent miracles, also prepared the one who had attempted to use deceit against the Spirit to testify to the truth concerning himself. For it was necessary, I suppose, for the destroyer of falsehood to transform the falsehood even in the deceiver into truth, so that it might become clear to all thereby that whatever was said by the great man was true, and that whatever he had accepted as true was not a lie. The Jews, therefore, having mocked his power as they thought, in the manner described, became a lesson to others not to dare any deception in matters where God himself becomes D the accuser of the things dared.
After this, when a certain gathering had once taken place under the open sky in one of the places of the region, and all were held in admiration of his teaching, a certain youth was calling out to those assembled that the teacher was not saying these things from himself, but that another standing beside him was uttering the words. And when, after the gathering was dismissed, the boy was brought to him, that great man is said to have told those present that the youth was not free from a demon; and at the same time, taking off the linen cloth which he wore upon his shoulders, and bringing it to the breath of his own mouth, he cast it in this way upon the young man. When this happened, the youth began to be troubled and to cry out, and to fall to the ground and be tossed about, and to suffer all the torments that are accustomed to come from demons. Then, when the saint had laid his hand upon him and calmed the turmoil, the demon indeed flew away from him, and he himself, having returned to his former state and tranquility, no longer said that he saw upon the holy man the one speaking
A For this, too, is among his great miracles, namely that he did not perform miracles of healing with any elaborate procedure; but it sufficed for the casting out of demons, and for the healing of bodily ailments, for the breath from his mouth to be brought to the sufferer by means of a linen cloth. But to go through all the miracles performed by him in succession would be a long task of writing, and one that would exceed the present leisure of my discourse; yet, by mentioning one or two more of the miracles told of him, I shall here bring my discourse to a close. For since the divine proclamation had already traveled everywhere, and all, both those inhabiting the city and those who dwelt in the surrounding countryside, had been brought over to the pious faith of the doctrine, and altars and shrines and idols among them had been pulled down, B and human life had already been purged of the defilements regarding the idols, and the foul stench of the sacrifices extinguished, and the filth of the altars and the pollutions from animal slaughter had been washed away, and all men everywhere were zealously erecting houses of prayer in the name of Christ, rage and envy entered into him who at that time presided over the Roman empire, because the ancestral worship of his deceit was being neglected, while the mystery of the Christians was increasing, and the Church was growing in size everywhere in the inhabited world through those who were constantly being added to the Word; and, thinking it possible to resist the divine power with his own cruelty, and to inhibit the preaching of the mystery, and to overthrow the established Churches, and to lead back again to the idols those who had been added to the Word, he therefore sends forth an edict to the governors of the nations, defining a terrible threat of punishment against them if they did not, by all manner of tortures, cause those who invoked and worshipped the name of Christ to be corrupted, and did not lead them back again through fear and the necessity of tortures to the ancestral worship of the demons. C When this terrible and impious edict was announced to the rulers, it having traveled everywhere throughout the empire by those appointed by the tyrannical cruelty for this very purpose, and such a one was in power over the nation of that place, who needed to prompt no higher authority toward his own wicked eagerness and bitterness and hostility toward those who had believed in the Word—it was proclaimed by him in public edicts that they must either abjure the faith or be punished with all manner of tortures and death. And there was nothing else at that time, either public or private, that was being done or sought by those who held public affairs in their hands, except to besiege and punish those who held fast to the faith. D Moreover, the terrors were not in the threats of words alone, but along with these, the varied construction of the tortures brought every kind of consternation, and
A fear even before the danger was instilled in men. Swords, fire, wild beasts, pits, and instruments for wrenching the limbs were ready, as were iron chairs heated in the fire and upright wooden stakes, upon which the bodies of those standing firm were stretched and lacerated by the violent application of terrible claws. Countless other things were devised by them, invented for the varied torment of the body. The one concern of those who held these powers was that no one should appear milder than another in the degree of their cruelty. Some gave information, others pointed out the victims, others searched for those in hiding. Some set upon those fleeing, while others, looking toward the possessions of the faithful and desiring to take hold of their property, harassed and agitated under the pretext of piety those who clung to the faith. There was total confusion and great helplessness among the people, with everyone suspicious of one another; neither did fathers retain affection for their children in the face of such terrors, nor did nature guarantee children the faithful care of their fathers. Families and kinships were divided and set against each other, split by their religious sects. A son who embraced the errors of the Greeks became a betrayer of his faithful parents, and a father who remained in infidelity became the accuser of his son who had believed. A brother, for the same cause, fought against nature, judging it a pious act to punish his own kin if that person held fast to the faith. Hence, the wildernesses were full of those being driven away, while houses were emptied of their inhabitants. Many of the public buildings were assigned to the needs of those who were imprisoned, for the dungeons were not large enough to contain the multitude of those who were punished for the sake of the faith. All the market-places and assemblies, both public and private, instead of their accustomed cheerfulness and joy, received these types of calamities, as some were dragged away, others were led off, and others among those present either laughed or wept at what was happening. There was no pity for infants, no honor for gray hairs, no respect for virtue that entered the minds of the hostile; but, as in a captured city, every age was surrendered and subjected to the enemies of the faith. D Not even for women was the natural weakness of their sex indulged, so that they might remain exempt from such dangers; but there was one law of cruelty against all, subjecting, with no distinction of sex, the one who was alien to the idols to the same manner of punishment. Then that great man, having observed and considered the weakness and fragility of human nature, seeing that the many were not able to struggle until death for the sake of piety, becomes an advisor to the Church to withdraw for a little while from the terrible assault, judging it better that their souls should be preserved through flight than that, while standing in the battle line of the struggle, they should become deserters of the faith. And so that men might be most fully persuaded that there is no danger to the soul in preserving the faith through flight, he becomes, by his own example, an advisor for this withdrawal, having himself withdrawn before others from the force of the danger. Moreover, this was also the most earnest desire of those in power, that through him, as if a general had been captured, they might dissolve the entire battle line of the faith; and of this
A the enemy was so eager, in order that they might bring him into their power.
He had occupied a certain deserted hill, taking with him the man who had originally been an attendant (neokoros) but had been instructed in the faith and was already serving in the office of deacon. When the persecutors, who followed his tracks in great numbers, were informed by someone of the place where he was hiding, some of them B occupied and guarded the foothills all around, so that in no way could he escape, should he attempt to flee. Others climbed the mountain and, scouring every part, were soon in plain sight of the great man, as they ran straight toward him. He, however, urged his companion to stand firm in unwavering trust towards God, and to entrust his salvation to Him, just as he himself was doing; and, extending his hands in prayer, he encouraged him not to cast off his faith through fear, even if the persecutors should come close. He provided himself to the deacon as an example of what he was commanding, gazing toward heaven with an unturning eye, and with hands outstretched in an upright posture. While they were in this state, those who had run up to them C searched the whole place; and when they had searched every thicket and shrub, every projecting rock, and every hollow of the ravines with the utmost diligence, they returned again to the foothills, so that out of fear of those searching, he might turn to flight and fall into the hands of those who had surrounded the lowest part of the hill.
Since, therefore, he was not found by these, nor was he among those others, and the informant who had observed the place where the great man stood described the location with signs—the place where the searchers asserted they had seen no one, except for two trees standing a little apart from each other—and when the searchers had departed, the informant remained behind. Finding the great man and his companion in prayer, and recognizing the divine protection through which those trees had appeared to the persecutors, he fell at his feet and believed his words; and he who a short while before had been a persecutor, became one of those who had fled.
Now, as they remained in the wilderness for a long time (for the war against the faith was prevailing, and the provincial governor was raging cruelly against those who adhered to the preaching of piety), and all had turned to flight; after they despaired D of the great man ever falling into the hands of the persecutors, they then turned their rabid fury against the rest. They searched everywhere throughout the province for all—men, women, and children alike—whoever held the holy name of Christ in reverence, and dragged them to the city, filling the prisons, charging them with piety as a crime in place of any other wrongdoing, so that at that time the courts were not occupied with any other public business, except that the magistrates were solely intent on this one thing: applying all kinds of uniquely and cleverly devised tortures against those who held fast to the faith.
Then it becomes even more clearly manifest to all A that the great man took no counsel without the divine will. For having preserved himself for his people by flight, he was a common aid and protection to all who were struggling on behalf of the faith. For just as we hear of Moses, that although he stood far off from the battle array of the Amalekites, by prayer he imparted strength to his kin against their adversaries, in the same manner he too, as if beholding with the eyes of the soul the things that were happening, invoked the divine assistance for those contending for the profession of the faith. And once, while praying to God with his companions as was his custom, he was suddenly filled with an intense struggle and turmoil, and was clearly seen by those present to be as one struck with wonder, and gripped with anxiety at the spectacle, and straining his hearing as if some sound were reaching him. And after a not inconsiderable space of time had passed, having remained throughout all the time in between erect and motionless, then, as if the spectacle before him had reached a good end, he returned again to his usual state, and praised God with a most clear voice, and uttered that hymn of victory and thanksgiving which we often hear in the Psalter of David saying: *Blessed be God, who has not given us as a prey to their teeth* (Ps. cxxiii, 6). And when those about him were marveling and asking to learn what in the world the spectacle was that had occurred before his eyes, he is said to have replied that he had seen in that hour a great fall, the devil having been B overthrown by a certain youth in the struggles for piety. And to those who did not yet understand what had been said, he explained more clearly to them that by divine help in that hour a certain youth of noble birth had contended with the sweat of faith, having been led by the executioners to the governor. He even added the name, calling him Troadius, and that after many torments, which he had endured bravely, he had been crowned with the crown of martyrdom. The deacon, being struck with amazement at what he heard, and while neither daring to disbelieve any of the things being said, and at the same time judging them to be above human nature—that one who was far from the city, and with no man having reported to him the things concerning him, should speak to those with him about those events as if he had been present at the happenings—he becomes a suppliant to the master to allow him to see with his own eyes what had been done, and not to be prevented by him from reaching those places where the miracle had occurred. And when he said that it was fearful to be in the midst of murderous men, and that often by the hostility of the adversary something undesirable might suddenly happen C beyond what was intended, the deacon said he relied upon the help of his prayers, uttering this voice to him: "Do you commend me to God, and no fear from the enemies shall lay hold of me." And when he had sent him forth, as if commending God's help as a fellow traveler for him through his prayer, he went on his way full of confidence, turning to no one of those he met. Being inside the city by evening, and weary from his
journey, he considered it necessary to tend to his exhausted body in a bath. A Now, a certain murderous demon resided in that place, accustomed to haunting the bathhouse, whose destructive power became active in the darkness against those who approached. For this reason, that bath was inaccessible and unused after sunset. Standing at its entrance, he implored the one in charge to open the door, to allow him entry, and not to begrudge him the relief of the bath. When the man testified that no one who had dared to enter the water at that hour had ever returned on his own feet, but that after evening the demon held everyone in its power, and that many, through ignorance, had already suffered incurable evils, whom lamentations, burials, and groans had awaited instead of the hoped-for relief—as the bath-attendant related these and similar things, he did not in the least relent from his desire, but pressed him in every way, compelling him to let him inside. Wishing not to share the danger of the stranger’s ignorance, the attendant, having turned the key for him, departed far from the bath.
When he had undressed and was inside, many and varied causes of fear and terror were arrayed by the demon: specters of every kind, displaying a nature mingled with fire and smoke, falling upon his eyes in the form of men and beasts, resounding in his ears, approaching with panting breath, and surrounding his body on every side. But he, setting before himself the sign (of the cross) and invoking the name of Christ, passed through the first chamber unharmed. As he proceeded further into the interior of the building, he encountered more grievous sights, the demon having transformed its appearance into a more terrifying form; at the same time, the room seemed to him to be shaken by an earthquake, and the floor appearing to crack open revealed the fire beneath, while sparks of flame were emitted from the waters. Yet again, by the same weapons—the sign (of the cross, that is) and the name of Christ—and by the help of the prayers of his master, he dispersed the terrors of those things which were then occurring.
When, now refreshed by the water, he hastened to leave, he was again hindered by the demon, which had blocked the door. But even this obstacle was C dispersed by the same power, the door opening of its own accord as the sign (of the cross) was used. When everything had turned out according to his wishes, it is said that the demon cried out to him in a human voice, not to attribute to himself the power by which he had escaped destruction; for the voice of the one who had entrusted him to his guardian had granted him protection from harm.
Saved, therefore, in the manner we have described, he was an object of wonder to those in charge of the place, because none of those who had ever dared to enter the water at that time had afterward been seen among the living. When he had related to them what had happened to him, and had learned that the valiant deeds of the martyrs in the city had come to pass in the same manner as that great man, living in the wilderness, had previously set forth and predicted, in addition to the accounts concerning himself,
A and what he had heard, and what he had learned by his own experience of the power of the great faith, to which the demon had also borne witness—he returned again to his teacher, leaving behind for the men of his own time and for those who would come after both a common protection, that each might commend himself to God through the priests. And even now, throughout the whole Church, but especially among those people, such a voice is held as a memorial of the aid and protection that was at that time provided to that man by Gregory.
But when that tyranny had already been dissolved by divine assistance, and peace had again succeeded in human life, by which the pursuit of the divine was freely and abundantly open to all, he descended again to the city, and having traversed the whole region round about, he made an addition to the pursuit of the divine for the peoples everywhere, by decreeing festivals for those who had struggled for the faith. And having distributed the bodies of the martyrs elsewhere, they would gather together at the annual rotation of the yearly cycle, and rejoice, celebrating in honor of the martyrs. For this indeed was a proof of his great wisdom: because, while transforming the whole generation of his time at once to a new kind of life—like some charioteer presiding over nature, and securely yoking them with the reins of faith and the knowledge of God—he granted a small relaxation to the yoke of faith, allowing the subjects to rejoice briefly out of gladness. For having perceived that, because of bodily pleasures, the simple and uneducated multitude remained in the error of idol worship, B in order that he might attain in the meantime that which was the primary goal—namely, that having abandoned vain superstitions they should be converted to God—he allowed them to exhilarate and delight themselves in the memory of the holy martyrs, and to pour themselves into joy, so that in time they might one day, of their own accord, pass over to a more honorable and exact manner of life; and because faith also prepared a way for that end, which indeed has already been attained in the case of many, every pleasure being translated from the delights of the body to a spiritual form of gladness.
But while he lived and conducted himself in this manner in the Church, and had a zeal, before his departure from this life, to see all men converted from idols to the saving faith: when he foresaw his own departure, he searched with care and diligence through the whole surrounding region, wishing to know if any were left outside the faith. When, therefore, he learned that those who had remained in the ancient error were no more than seventeen, "It is indeed a bitter thing," he said, looking up to God, "that anything should be lacking to the fullness of those who are being saved." Nevertheless, he said that it was a matter worthy of great thanksgiving that he should leave behind as many idolaters for the one who was to succeed him in the Church as he himself had received Christians. And having prayed for those who had already believed, for their growth toward perfection, and for the conversion of those who were unbelievers, thus of the human...
A life he departs to God, having charged his kin not to acquire a place specifically for his burial. For if, while alive, he did not consent to be called lord of any place, but lived his life dwelling as a tenant and stranger in others' lands, he would not even after death be at all ashamed of being a tenant. "But let it be," he said, "a narrative for the life hereafter, that Gregory was neither named after any place while living, nor became an occupant of others' lands after death, having detached himself from all possession on earth, so that he did not even endure to be buried in his own place; for he judged that to be the only possession honorable and desirable which bears within it no trace of deceit or avarice."
But as to the sudden transformation of the whole nation from Grecian vanity to the acknowledgment of the truth, let whoever reads this account marvel; yet let no one withhold belief, but rather look to the dispensation and counsel B by which such a change occurred for those who were transferred from falsehood to the truth. For what happened in the first times of his priesthood—which my narrative, hurrying toward the other miracles, passed over—I shall now take up again and relate.
There was a certain public and universal festival in the city, celebrated for a certain local demon according to some ancestral rite and customary observance. To this, almost the entire nation flocked, with the whole region celebrating along with the city. The theater had been completely filled with those who had hurried there, and the crowd of latecomers spilled over from all sides above the seats. And since everyone was eager to watch the spectacles and listen to the performances directed toward the orchestra, the stage was full of uproar, and the display for the magicians was rendered fruitless; the turmoil of those cramped together was not only impeding the enjoyment of the music, but was not even granting the magicians time to display their own arts. C Then a common voice bursts forth from the whole multitude, calling upon the demon in whose honor they were holding the festival, and requesting from him that space be made for them.
Since everyone was speaking in unison, the voice rose to a height, and it seemed as if the speech of the entire city were from one mouth, for the intercession offered to the demon (and the prayer was, as to hear the words themselves: "Zeus, make us room"). But that great man, having heard the sound of those calling by name upon the demon from whom they were requesting room to be made for the city, sent one of those standing by and said to them that space—more than they were praying for—would shortly be given to them.
But with this voice from him—uttered, as it were, like a D grim sentence—a pestilence follows that crowded gathering of those keeping the festival and celebrating the games. And at once, lamentation was mingled with the choruses of dancers, so that their pleasures were turned into mourning and calamities, and instead of the flutes and clapping, alternating dirges and mournful songs had seized the city everywhere. For once the disease had attacked the people, it spread faster than could be imagined, consuming the houses like fire, so that
A even the sacred edifices, to which men fled in the hope of healing and remedy, were filled with those dying of the disease; while the fountains, the conduits, the springs, and the wells were filled with those whom the thirst caused by the B violence of the disease was consuming (and in these cases the water was of no power to quench the burning heat of the ailment, for those who had once been seized by the malady were affected just as much after drinking the water as they had been before). Many, moreover, went of their own accord to the tombs, because the survivors were no longer sufficient to bury the dead, nor did the evil attack men unexpectedly; but rather, a certain specter would appear at the houses upon which destruction was impending, so that a sure death would follow. When, therefore, the cause of the disease became plain to all—namely, that the demon invoked by them was wickedly fulfilling the prayers of these foolish and wretched men, thereby producing this wretched lack of space in the city—they became suppliants of the great man, beseeching him to stay the onrush of the evil through the God who was known and preached by him, whom they acknowledged to be the only true God and to possess authority over all things. For since that specter appeared to a house before the destruction that was to occur there, and immediately cast the inhabitants into despair of their lives, the only means of salvation for those in danger was for the great Gregory to enter that house, and by his prayer to drive away the ailment that had fallen upon it. When the news spread quickly among all the people through those who had been the first to obtain such salvation, all the things which they had previously busied themselves with out of vanity—oracles, C expiatory sacrifices, and the dwelling in the temples of idols—were abandoned. All turned their eyes toward the great priest, each one drawing him to himself for the salvation of his whole family. The reward he received from those who were saved was the salvation of their souls. For by such an experience of the priest's piety being manifested, there was no longer any delay in consenting to the mystery, since they were being taught the power of faith through these deeds. Thus, to those people, the disease became stronger than health. For by as much as they were weak in their reasoning with regard to the acceptance of the mystery while in health, by so much were they strengthened toward faith by the bodily disease. And thus, D the error concerning idols being exposed, all were translated to the name of Christ, some being led by the hand to the truth by the disease that had come upon them, while others put forward faith in Christ as a protection, in order that they might be safe against the pestilence. There are also other miracles of the great Gregory preserved in memory to this day, which, sparing unbelieving ears, lest those who, on account of the magnitude of the things reported, think that truth is a lie should be offended, we have not added to our writings. To Christ, however, who works such miracles through his servants, belongs glory, honor, and adoration, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.